You invited me over. You made me tea that you said would make me “swear I’d died and gone to heaven”.
We watched All Shook Up and made fun of the plot line. You made me laugh harder than I had in at least a week. Somehow I ended up with my head on your chest and your arm looped around my waist. And I was so content to stay like that.
And then I had to go. We said goodbye three times because neither of us are good at it. You hugged me, then held me for what seemed like an age. You buried your face in my neck and shuddered and I held you tighter.
And then you tickled me like the asshole with a heart of gold I know you are and when I punched you in the arm and asked “What are you gonna do about it?” you could’ve said
“I’ll kick you out of my house”
“I’ll tickle you twice as much”
“Shut up, you”
All acceptable answers, really.
But you didn’t say anything because we both knew what you’d do about it.
Because one moment you were smiling at me and the next we came together like it was so natural for us, like it was two years ago again, and you kissed the breath out of me.
And then you apologized.
You said it didn’t really mean much to you and you don’t know what happened.
And you know something? I can’t even get angry because never, not once, did I expect anything else from you.
Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t kiss you again if I had the chance.